


Interventions (And Misunderstandings)

by MoMoMomma



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon Universe, Gen, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 14:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16518281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: It would just fit, make so much sense, that the only time the Seeds were actively helpful is when they'd gotten something very wrong.





	Interventions (And Misunderstandings)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9shadowcat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9shadowcat9/gifts).



> This was written as a commission for 99shadowcat99 over on Tumblr! (Apologies for any missed tags, I'm not great at tagging gen things!) I hope you enjoy!

“What are you _searching_ for?”

“The Sheriff.” Rook says shortly, blinking to try and clear his vision best he can, annoyed with the tingle in his nose and the lightness in his body and the fucking sparkling in his eyes. “Go away, Faith.”

“I see you run this way and that, always tracking down something new. Why not just let this go?” 

She’s twirling along his side, keeping pace mostly because Rook’s legs feel like jelly and running isn’t an option this deep in the Bliss. He knows the Sheriff is in this cave somewhere, had gotten the disjointed phone call of the Sheriff telling him he was too Blissed to be safe, was hiding himself away to prevent anything terrible from happening. 

Not that the cave looks like a cave right now. Rook only knows he’s still in it because of the hand he’s dragging along the stone wall. In the Bliss, it’s a pretty field filled with those stupid fucking flowers. 

“Let me have him. You can go save others. Others who might need you more.”

Tempting. This is a lot. But Rook owes the Sheriff a great deal and he’s not about to just abandon him to Faith’s drugs and manipulation because it’s making his life a little difficult. 

“I’m saving the Sheriff, Faith. Leave me alone.”

“Why do you _care_ so much?”

She’s blocking his path, delicate hands on his chest, and Rook only stops because, hallucination or not, he doesn’t want to walk over a lady. There’s a flash of anger, a temper tantrum barely hidden because this isn’t going her way, but it fades in a second into consideration.

“What does he mean to you, Rook? Is he...something deeper than you let on?”

“That’s gross.” Rook informs her shortly, bobbing and weaving around her form to continue deeper into the cave. “The Sheriff is a friend and a mentor. And even if he wasn’t? I’m not going to let you take a single person that could help the Resistance into the Bliss. Not if I can do anything about it.”

“Is he a father figure to you, Rook?”

Faith doesn’t make any sound when she steps, always barefoot, but Rook knows she’s right behind him. Almost stepping on his heels. Her hand is gentle against his shoulder and Rook wants to shake it off but he lets it linger there, lets her think she has a bit of control.

If Faith has as much control over his hallucinations as he thinks, best to not piss her off. Lest he winds up even more lost than he already feels like he is. 

“You don’t need him to be your father, Rook. Eden’s Gate has a father, Joseph would gladly take that role from him. For you. All you have to do is--”

“I have a dad.” Rook rolls his eyes, trudges stubbornly forwards. “A really damn good one. I don’t need another one. But the Sheriff is still a friend.”

“You’re searching for something. Maybe your family wasn’t enough. Our family could _be_ enough for you.”

“No.” Rook stops, stops dead in his tracks, almost feels Faith bump into him from behind. 

He turns carefully, too many memories in his head, swimming in the Bliss and close enough he can hear the Sheriff talking to himself. He’s heard those words so many times before, from concerned parents of friends and people he thought weren’t so damn narrow-minded. 

_”They’ll never really be enough, you know? You’ll always want something more.”_

_“Aren’t you curious about where you came from? They're your parents but they’re not...y’know…_ really _your parents.”_

_“Wouldn’t you be happier with your real family?”_

He can _hear_ those words once more, warped and twisted in the whispers of the Bliss. Faith’s eyes go wide and Rook forgoes all his manners to shove a finger in her face. 

“Don’t you ever fucking say that to me again. My family is perfect, it’s always been good enough for me. I went through that hell, I’m _never_ doing that again.”

Rook knows he’s made a mistake as soon as she vanishes. You don’t expose a soft underbelly like that, not if the claws of predators like the Seeds are close. But he dealt with that shit in his hometown so much, it’s his one breaking point. He’s probably going to have to deal with it sooner rather than later, Faith’s probably already bursting Joseph’s door down to tell him the latest news about him. 

But right now he’s going to get the Sheriff out of here. He’s going to go someplace safe to ease them both free from the clutches of the Bliss.

And he is decidedly not going to stare at his phone for a few hours, wishing he could call home. 

.O.

Getting kidnapped is getting old. Rook’s been through it so many times he’s almost an expert at this point. Knows precisely how to fall to avoid waking up with a black eye or bruised rib, knows to relax his body otherwise the removal of the Bliss arrow leaves him aching for days. Rook manages to offer the Peggie approaching him--huh, weird, almost looks like one of Jacob’s even though Rook’s been in John’s territory for the last few days--a baleful glare before passing out.

Next time he’s gonna spit on them. See how if he can incite one last offense before he goes under. 

He drifts in and out of consciousness, body fighting hard against something it’s had to battle before. Rook gets small snapshots, the floor of a truck, hushed chatter over his head, the sensation of being carried. He thinks he vaguely recognizes where he is, something about the buildings he can see passing by as he’s hoisted into a fireman’s carry transported out of the car to somewhere else. 

Nothing sticks though, and it gives him a headache when he tries to focus too hard. Damn Bliss arrows. Rook’s had just about enough of this and whenever he manages to escape--because he _always_ manages to escape, like the Seeds aren’t trying as hard as they say they are to keep him--he’s going to go burn a couple fields in revenge. 

He wakes up, finally, with a searing headache behind one eye and in bed. Not his bed, of course, because he’d never be lucky enough to just have some weird nightmare and actually not get himself kidnapped. It’s softer than his is, covered in a few more blankets that he shoves off to swing his feet over the edge. The room is pretty barren though, clearly a guest room of some sort. 

He pushes to his feet, winces when he sees his boots have been taken along with all of his weapons, and creeps towards the door. There are voices beyond it, ones he can’t quite make out, in low tones. Companionable. So either friends on watch together or Peggies killing time by making small talk. 

Either way, doesn’t sound like a lot of them. Rook doesn’t have any weapons but he’s pretty good at improvising. There might not be anything in the room he can use, but there’s probably something in the hall. 

Hell, give him a lamp. He’ll give major league pitchers a run for their money with how annoyed he’s feeling at the moment. 

Rook opens the door as quietly as he can manage, slips out and closes it behind him. He’s already adjusting his breathing, trying to make sure it’s slow and even. He’d learned early on he tends to pant when he gets worked up and that’s not gonna help him be very stealthy.

Not that his breathing matters much. Because there’s a silence that falls the second he takes a step towards the staircase at the end of the hall. A silence that spells nothing but bad news. Rook’s almost tempted to rush back into the room, shove himself under the covers and feign unconsciousness once more. 

But footsteps advance towards him, up the stairs at an even but quick pace. He balls his fists at his sides, shifts his weight to lunge if he needs to, and is still unprepared for the sight of Joseph Seed appearing at the top and smiling placidly at him.

It leaves him off balance--partly because what the fuck is Joseph doing kidnapping him and partly because, cult leader or not, he can’t just _lunge_ at a preacher. Rook stumbles, grits his teeth when Joseph smiles softly at him.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m sure you have questions. We do as well. Please, come downstairs. John’s made coffee.”

John probably _spit_ in said coffee. But Rook follows, mostly because he’s got little choice. And because he knows if John and Joseph are here, Jacob’s here too. He’d stand a chance at running if it was just the two, but he knows better than to try Jacob in hand to hand combat.

That massive fuck would probably put a boot in his ass and feed him to the Judges for even having the audacity to attempt it. 

He’s led to the table, which is filled with half-empty coffee mugs and the two other Seed brothers, both of whom stare at him like he’s a curiosity. He’s used to it with Jacob, the man always looking for soft bits to poke at, but John’s gaze is something new. He looks like he wants to sew Rook back up, as opposed to his typical need to rip him apart at the seams. 

Joseph is humming something under his breath--thankfully not Amazing Grace because _that_ song is going to give him nightmares for years--busying himself at the counter before depositing a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He sits, pointedly pushes the chair in front of Rook out with a foot, and folds his hands neatly in front of him. 

Like this is some mild chat instead of the weirdest kidnapping Rook’s ever been part of. 

“Is it too repetitive if I ask what the fuck again?”

“Sit down.” Jacob rolls his eyes, lifts his cup to his mouth. “You’re not leaving until we’re done talking. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

Right. Like Jacob’s ever given a shit about his comfort before. 

Rook compliantly settles, sprawls just a bit because he can and he’s aiming to irritate them all into telling him what’s going on. There’s a shared moment, the brothers glancing at each other like they want to know who’s going first, before Joseph clears his throat.

“Faith delivered a surprising piece of news as of late. One we thought to confirm with you.”

Wonderful. So Faith hadn’t kept her mouth shut like he’d hoped against hope she might. Rook doesn’t mind but he also doesn’t want any memories of his family tainted with the Seeds. He’s not ashamed of his family, of his past, he just wants them the hell away from it. 

“For the love of--” Rook sighs, rolls his eyes. “Yes. I’m adopted. No, it’s not a big deal, there’s a lot of adopted kids out there.”

“A lot of them who went in hoping for something better and didn’t get even close.” John’s voice has something too much, like his past is filling up his chest and throat and the words have to force past. “Adopted children don’t always have the best sort of upbringing.”

“As we would know.” Joseph murmurs quietly. “Our own adopted parents were...in a way, worse. We traded suffering for another type, not for less.”

“And if they were, it explains everything!” John spreads his hands wide, a manic sort of gleam over the dull sheen there moments ago. “The wrath, the constant struggle against joining our family. Why would you? Why would you trust our family would be any better when the last time you found a new family it was only pain and suffering?”

“Uh...what?”

“You don’t have to be ashamed. We all have suffered at the hands of others taking in children with no intentions to treat them as children should be treated.” Joseph slides a careful hand onto his wrist as Jacob and John nod. “You are amongst friends here, Rook.”

“Look, I’m sorry you guys didn’t get a good family. I know it happens sometimes. But mine wasn’t like yours.”

“Doesn’t have to be the same.” Jacob grunts, crosses his arms. “You can hurt someone without beating the shit out of them. Not all scars are visible.”

“I appreciate whatever the hell this...intervention is supposed to be?” Rook gently pulls his hand away from Joseph’s grasp. “But you’ve got it all wrong. My parents took me home straight from the hospital. Raised me from second one almost.”

“You don’t owe them your loyalty. If they hurt you--”

“They _didn’t_.” Rook goggles at John. “Fuck, the _worst_ thing they did to me was make me take gymnastics for two years because some doctor mentioned he was concerned about my flexibility. Oh, and ground me from using the car for a month because they caught me smoking when I was 16.”

“You might think everything they did was in line with how parents are supposed to act--”

“Nope.” Rook cuts Joseph’s soft words off with a slash of his hand. “I’m not sugar coating anything. No rose-colored glasses. They were good people and they were _great_ parents. They still are.”

“Why’re you here, then?” Jacob asks, all pointed focus, brows down low like he’s caught a loophole in the argument. “If they’re so great, why aren’t you with them?”

“Because I didn’t wanna be the person still living with his parents at 34?” Rook says, laughing with just a tinge of mania in his voice. “Because I wanted to be a Sheriff’s Deputy and Hope County seemed like a new start for a new start?”

“Where are they now?” Joseph asks and Rook shouldn’t answer, knows it’ll only give them more ammunition, but he can’t _not._

“Back in Louisiana. Same house I grew up in.”

“Halfway across the country and you still wanna tell us you’re not running from them?”

“Jesus--” Rook scrubs his hands down his face. “I went to college in Nebraska. Not because they made me but because it’s the college I wanted to get into. Montana was closer once I graduated and started looking for jobs.”

“They sent you away the second you were old enough to be gone.”

“I _just_ said I chose my college.” Rook glares across the table at John. “Do you listen to me? Or do you just selectively choose what words fit your crazy little internal narrative?”

“Then why do you fight so hard? Why resist joining our family if you have no trauma that prevents it?”

“You _murder_ people.” Rook stares aghast at Joseph, like someone his age could really be so blind. “You drag them into this crazy cult kicking and screaming because you believe in some mythical doomsday. I don’t wanna be a part of _anything_ you people are part of.”

“We are preparing--”

“I don’t care.” Rook waves away John’s immediate explanation. “Nope. Nothing you say is going to convince me you’re anything but crazy religious fucks. Maybe at one point, I might’ve understood. You guys got handed a bad lot at every single turn, sounds like. And I might’ve had pity. But you _murdered_ people.”

“So you’ve stated,” Joseph says quietly, staring down into his cup. “I had hoped to find common ground. Perhaps heal a wound none of us knew existed.”

“I appreciate the gesture. Or, at least, I would. If not for the whole...cult thing.” Rook winces; carefully pushes himself back from the table as the brothers seem to take in their collective folly. “But I didn’t have what you did. Didn’t go through what you guys did. So I am gonna go...and probably see all of you eventually when you’re sick of me blowing up your shit.”

They let him leave, shockingly enough. There’s no siren to call for backup. No Peggies rushing him with weapons. The few that are loitering outside of the house--which is in Joseph’s compound, no wonder it seemed familiar--don’t really acknowledge him as he stomps past them towards the gates. Either they’ve been ordered to leave him be while he’s here or they were privy to the conversation that was supposed to be taking place inside and think he’s jumped ship to side with them. 

Rook makes it outside the gate, hijacks a car that’s been left abandoned, and starts back towards Fall’s End with a dizzying array of thoughts in his head. Even if they were dead wrong, the Seeds kidnapped him with the sole purpose of helping. Of sharing their own past so he might feel comfortable to share his. Gave him coffee--which he didn’t drink because Bliss but the gesture was nice--and didn’t hurt him any more than was necessary to get him where they wanted him. 

In their own way, it was almost...sweet. 

Jerome and Mary May look up when he pushes open the door to the Spread Eagle, both of their faces immediately glowing with relief as shared sighs fill the silence. 

“Rook!”

“Deputy, we were about to stage a rescue attempt. What the hell happened? We couldn’t figure out which Seed got ahold of you.”

“I need a beer before storytime.” Rook can’t quite shake the conversation, the earnestness in each brother’s face. “I have had...a _doozy_ of a day.”

**Author's Note:**

> Want updates on what I'm writing next? Wanna talk Far Cry? Find me over on my [Tumblr!](https://momomomma2.tumblr.com)


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